


Small

by My_Soul_and_Perfume



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, Body insecurity, Depression, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecurity, M/M, Omega Steve Rogers, Omega Verse, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24250057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Soul_and_Perfume/pseuds/My_Soul_and_Perfume
Summary: It had only taken him until the age of five to begin believing his father’s words, and he has repeated this mantra to himself for years in this very same spot. Yet, he had never grown desensitized to them. Words weren’t like the colors of sweaters. They wouldn’t fade away.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 25
Kudos: 157
Collections: POTS (18+) Smol Steve Appreciation Bingo, Tony Stark Bingo 2020





	1. Thinking of You

**Author's Note:**

> For the Smol Steve Appreciation bingo (2020)! 
> 
> Square: omegaverse
> 
> I really want to thank @lmao_thunder for editing this piece! <3
> 
> ~*~
> 
> This is also for the Tony Stark Bingo (2020)!
> 
> Name of Piece: Small  
> Name of Participant: My_Soul_and_Perfume  
> Card Number: 3135  
> Square Number and Prompt: #9, Confession in Desperate Situation  
> Rating: Mature  
> Pairing: Steve/Tony  
> Warnings: None apply, some violence  
> Summary: It had only taken him until the age of five to begin believing his father’s words, and he has repeated this mantra to himself for years in this very same spot. Yet, he had never grown desensitized to them. Words weren’t like the colors of sweaters. They wouldn’t fade away.

Tony’s sweater made him look...small. Like a frail, little thing who could be blown over by the next gust of wind. Steve didn’t often look in the mirror, but something had compelled him to after pulling this fleecy fabric over his head. As if he had to reassure himself that yes, he really was protected and yes, he really was safe even if Tony was not there. He smoothed his fingers over his arms, wrapping them around his ribs, and something in his heart ached. He took in his sunken, hollow cheeks and his lifeless fringe hanging over his eyes. Small, that’s all he felt sometimes. Maybe all he amounted to.

The truth of the matter was, he only weighed a little over one hundred pounds, and he couldn’t seduce anyone even if he tried. He was as likely to love himself as his parents were to stop fighting. But, this… Steve tugged the collar of Tony’s sweater and inhaled deeply: rose, oak, eucalyptus. At least he had this, even though its color had started gradually fading away.

Maybe he stood there for minutes, or it could have been hours- he couldn’t really tell while so deep in his calm headspace. Whenever he felt panicked, this sweater was his saving grace that pulled him from the darkness. Not only did it cover his bruises, it blocked out the smell of alcohol on rancid breath, replaced the throbbing pain in his body with a soft embrace, and its weight made his breaths come easier. There was a man just outside the door who would hurt him if he even so much as made a sound. At least in this little bathroom, with its dingy light, cracked ceiling and thin door he could hide.

When his knees began to protest for standing for so long, Steve blinked his eyes open, he hadn’t realized he had closed them, and looked at himself once more.  _ Useless omega _ .  _ Worthless _ . The sound of his voice overlaid his father’s, ringing in his ears with twice the intensity. It had only taken him until the age of five to begin believing his father’s words, and he has repeated this mantra to himself for years in this very same spot. Yet, he had never grown desensitized to them. Words weren’t like the colors of sweaters. They wouldn’t fade away.

Switching off the light, Steve slowly opened the door, and tiptoed back to his room. With every step, the floorboards creaked and moaned. The bright light of the TV was flashing in the corner of his eye and he could hear his father snoring, probably passed out drunk. But Steve knew that all it would take was a whisper- a hair trigger- and he could expect a glass bottle to be hurtled in his direction. Thankfully, he’d made it back to his bed unscathed. And it was there that he finally gave his aching knees a rest as he sat on the edge of the mattress. He gave the sweater one last long inhale before tugging it off and replacing it back where it belonged: in a hole beneath the floorboards. There its scent would stay hidden from the possessive Alpha sleeping a room over. 

Safe another day, at least until it was inevitably found and ripped from his clutches.  _ At least I have it now _ , Steve thought as he laid himself down to sleep. He curled himself up into a ball, knees tucked to his chin and arms wrapped around his shins. Eventually, he sank into a dark, dreamless sleep. 


	2. Their Beginning

There was a marked difference in how Steve behaved from the moment he got into Tony’s car to the second he stepped foot in Tony’s apartment. If you pictured a man finally settling down into an armchair after getting home from a long day at work, you would be able to understand how at ease Steve felt in Tony’s apartment. His shoulders slumped, his eyebrows unfurrowed, his posture lost its tension because Steve wasn’t just visiting Tony, he was  _ coming home _ .

The moment they were behind closed doors, Tony’s arms would wrap around Steve’s small frame and he’d pull Steve close. Steve would freeze, unprepared for Tony’s sudden displays of affection. But, slowly he would return the embrace, clutching at Tony’s shirt for purchase. He always felt unbalanced when he was hugged: not used to the uncomfortable warmth that bloomed inside his chest, or the gentle touches, or the feeling of another’s heartbeat against him. Sometimes it was a reminder that there were people who loved him, that finally got him to relax, and from there open up.

Still, Steve couldn’t explain why, when they were alone together, he couldn’t take off his clothes like he wanted to. When he was alone, he would sometimes daydream about the bruises peeling away from his body, turning into a pile of petals. It felt good to picture everything that was wrong and tainted about him turning into something beautiful. Mind, that was only a dream. Instead, he would merely stand at the foot of the bed, wringing his hands in his sweater and bite his lip, musing that  _ this could be the day I show Tony my true colors _ . But then, Steve would remember himself and he would look into Tony’s eyes, picture anger, and swiftly change his mind. For a little while longer, Steve just wanted to be small. He would tuck himself further into Tony's chest and nuzzle his nose into Tony’s neck. Tony’s arms would wrap around him and he would rub Steve’s back, turning him into a pile of goo. He would be pliant. Willing. He wanted to soak up as much of Tony’s love as he could. Even if he only had this for a little while.

Steve flinched. Tony had pressed on a particularly tender spot on his back.

“Shit, did I hurt you?”

“No. No, it’s just a bruise.” Steve tugged the sweater down to cover the patch of skin it had revealed. “I’m fine.”

It took a hundred more “I’m fine”s before Steve began to tell the truth about his bruises. It all came pouring out that night when his father finally kicked him out the house and Steve traveled numbly to Tony’s place. He spilled all of his secrets right there at Tony’s threshold. He hadn’t even managed to take Tony’s sweater with him.

He told Tony everything. About the abuse, the pain he had been in since he was a child, the deep, embedded shame rooted in his heart about not being strong enough to overcome this sooner. He hadn’t realized how much he had bottled up. The cracks in his armor had been growing unnoticed over time, until finally, his body couldn’t take the pressure anymore. The tears had poured out of his eyes, streaming down his cheeks in a never-ending stream. Great heaving sobs had wracked his frame and his knees had buckled, but Tony had caught him. 

Steve was nothing now, absolutely worthless, because his father didn’t even want him and he had nowhere to go. It just felt like no matter how hard Steve tried to be good, people would always find a way to show him that he didn’t belong.

Tony’s hands had trembled as they held Steve, perhaps at the horror of finally understanding what Steve had kept hidden beneath all those layers. And again, Steve felt small.

It had taken hours for him to calm down, with the last of his tears drying on his cheeks and exhaustion weighing down his bones. Tony held him on the couch, one hand in his hair, the other wrapped around Steve’s middle. His calming scent washed over Steve in waves and all he could do was bask in it: rose, oak, eucalyptus. Sniffling, Steve had curled up a little closer, just breathing.

A smooth, velvety purring had risen from the pit of his stomach. He’d felt Tony’s pleasure from the way his fingers had tightened in Steve’s hair and his breath had hitched. Tony had told him how beautiful he was, how brave he was, how much Tony loved him. He’d promised Steve that this wasn’t going to be the end. No, it was going to be their beginning.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was definitely an emotional journey for me, as most of Steve's POV came from the heart. Thank you to everyone who gave this a read <3 I really appreciate it!


End file.
